Passing
by mysweetone
Summary: Canon/AU. One-shot. Edith receives news from Locksley that changes everything.


**A/N: I feel the need to exorcise some issues with these two… I hope you will indulge me. I apologize for the tragic nature of it, but I wanted to get to the heart of what happens when two people clearly meant for each other diverge on two separate paths for numerous reasons—which can so easily happen in real life in this crazy world in which we live—and the consequences that overwhelm us at the end of that time when we've run out of chances and Fate's door closes. I hope I've managed something in character (and hopefully good?) for these two who deserve so much better... Please do review if you have a moment as I would love to know what you think… **

* * *

Anthony Strallan lay confined to bed, experiencing the final days of life alone. His staff waited on him as best they could, but he sent them away frequently wishing to remain isolated and waking often from disturbing dreams only to call out to no one. No one ailment troubled him, but a combination…weak heart, labored breathing and infection in his lungs. The fever came and went; the refrain remained the same. They could no longer deny the repeated whispers of her name.

Stewart, upon urging from Anthony's cook, Mrs. Brandon, called the London's office for _The Sketch_, but failed to reach Lady Edith. A post was sent immediately in the event a phone call wouldn't work. Stewart initially protested—knowing Sir Anthony would disagree and would not wish to involve Lady Edith Crawley in anything having to do with his last days, save for the final designations in his will. Mrs. Brandon reasoned with him, however, assuring him that Lady Edith would welcome the news and the opportunity to see their master one final time…that the two of them—Edith and Anthony—_needed _to at least have the opportunity...

The following day the post arrived at her desk, right next to the phone message from Locksley. Edith, seeing the express-sent label and address, pulled the posted letter and read it immediately.

_Lady Edith, _

_We apologize for disturbing you in London, but felt this news imperative. Sir Anthony Strallan is gravely ill and, in his feverish state, mentions you often. We will be awaiting word on whether to ready a room for you or otherwise accommodate a visit. It is entirely your decision, of course, but one we felt you should have the opportunity to make._

_In Service to You,_

_Stewart and Mrs. Brandon_

Edith folded the letter, tucked it in her purse, called Locksley, and then interrupted Michael's meeting. "I'm sorry—I need to go to Yorkshire. Please excuse me."

"Edith—wait—now? Edith—"

In less than five minutes, Edith was out the door with plans made for her arrival; she boarded the next train, not even bothering to pack a bag.

As the train made its way north, Edith recalled every moment with him: the drives, the laughter, the quiet conversations, and the walks together, the shy looks that needed no words... Edith considered that day at the altar now three years gone: the pained expression—the agony, the pleading in his voice, the ache that never went away inside of her… The shadowed space within, that despite her relationship with Michael, expanded and remained unfulfilled, lost to time and fate…claimed by Anthony in 1914 and never relinquished by her own heart and will. Yes, much had happened in the past three years since the last time she saw Anthony; when she read the letter, she was reminded of just how much she had wished her life—and his—had been different…

Stewart met her at the station, his expression sober—but he managed a warm smile. "Evening, Lady Edith."

She smiled, remembering his kindnesses years ago. "Evening, Stewart. Thank you for writing to me."

"Thank you for coming, milady."

"How is he?" Edith shivered in the chill, damp air of the afternoon.

Stewart tried to find the right words. "He's fading rather quickly…he's…" His voice trailed as he opened the door for her.

"What, Stewart? Please tell me." She begged.

"Milady, if I was to be honest—and I do apologize for any offense—to be honest, he gave up…he's been…unwell…since…" He couldn't finish. "I believe he lost his will long ago." He saw the look in her eyes, the tears brimming.

"Please—go on," she urged.

"He's been obsessive about work and the estate and exhausted himself these past years…we've had to force him to try and take care, but he'd have none of it…he didn't care about himself at all—only Locksley and its management. He's practically killed hi—" Stewart caught himself. "I'm sorry, milady. I shouldn't say that; I just hate to see him like this," he said, his own eyes giving away his emotional state. He handed his handkerchief to her.

Edith nodded, dabbing her tears. "Thank you. Please, let's hurry."

As they drove the few minutes to Locksley, the two remained silent.

Mrs. Brandon greeted them in the drive, not hesitating to offer a warm hug for Edith, despite the time having passed between them.

"Thank you for coming, milady."

"Of course, Mrs. Brandon. I only wish it weren't…" Edith's voice broke. "May I see him, please?"

Stewart held the door, "This way, please, Lady Edith."

Edith followed Stewart up the stairs and he quietly opened the door to Anthony's room for her. The darkness covered everything now as evening settled. The curtains, drawn already, made it seem like the middle of the night rather than just late evening; Stewart tended to the fire, trying his best not to disturb Anthony's sleep.

Edith removed her heels, set them aside, and then walked over to the bed where he lay. Stewart moved a chair from near the hearth to the right side of it for her as quietly as he could, looked at Anthony, and then whispered. "We'll be right downstairs, milady."

Edith could only nod, her attention rapt as she studied Anthony's features. He laid asleep, the pillow damp from fever. His blonde hair wet to her touch as she stroked it from his face. She couldn't get over the pain that seemed to fill him, even in sleep. Anthony's features creased from exertion, his gaunt face contorted with a grimace and wincing from the hurt that overwhelmed him.

"Anthony," she whispered. "Can you hear me, darling? Stewart wrote to me and I came as quickly as I could…" Seeing no response from him, she took his left hand in both of hers. "Anthony…please?"

Edith leaned and kissed his hand, then laid her cheek on it, watching him sleep…waiting for him to wake…

A few hours later in the night, Edith felt his hand stir, tenderly tracing her cheek and brow. "Anthony?"

"Sweet one…where've you been?"

She stared at him, confused—and she saw his eyes were as brilliant blue as ever, but glassy and feverish.

"I've been away, but I'm home now."

He smiled, but his breath faltered as he spoke. "Yes, I'm glad; I miss you when you're...not here… I do worry when you're away…hate waking without you beside…me…"

Edith tried to hold back the tears…_He's wanted me all this time…how much has he imagined? How much of our life together did he dream, yet fail to see…? It can't be just fever…_

All she could manage through the emotion was a simple, "Me, too." She was in awe of this moment, this long-awaited intimacy. "I've always hated being away from you…"

"The children…asleep?"

Edith had to swallow hard, fighting the tears and the pain in her throat. She barely managed a whisper, "Yes, yes, darling, they're asleep." Edith then had to brush the now-falling tears as they slid down her cheeks.

His eyes were closing again, heavy with exhaustion. "Come here, my darling…no reason…chair…let me…hold…"

Edith paused, disbelief at his words causing her to hesitate. She could not let this pass. She climbed into bed beside him, under the cover, letting his good arm encircle her and she buried her face in his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as he fell back asleep. She could feel how hot the fever was and, despite the intensity she held on, letting her body meld to his and savoring every moment of the closeness. _How long can it last?_ She could feel the ache, the clenching in her chest even as she held him tighter, feeling the halting breaths coming from him, and knowing she was losing him…

Anthony remained unconscious for most of the night, sometimes murmuring incoherently, sometimes she made out her name in his whispers; the fever broke in the early hours, and then Edith felt herself chilled from the combined sweat from their bodies.

"Edith?" His deep voice startled her.

"Morning," she said.

"What are you—" Anthony stared, unable to finish the question before Edith started to sit up beside him, explaining herself.

"Stewart and Mrs. Brandon sent me a letter—"

Anger flashed in his eyes, but he was too weak to move. "Why? I've told them not to involve you—I'm sick and there's nothing to be done. I'm dying and I wish to be left alone…"

Edith, numbed by the cold words, could only stare at him in confusion, hurt.

"Why would you come, Edith? After I hurt you…humiliated you? Haven't I hurt you enough?" He choked and then cried. "Please forgive me—Edith, please…"

Edith reached to comfort him, smooth the worried lines of his face. "I'm here because I love you—and I forgave you long ago."

Anthony's tears flowed and she continued gently brushing them away. "Dr. Clarkson says my heart is weak…that I haven't long…"

"I know…Stewart wrote with such urgency…"

"Edith, I—I've missed you so…I wrote to you…after…but I—I couldn't send it…didn't think you would…receive it…"

Edith nodded, her own tears being blinked away by her eyelashes.

"It's in my study…everything's there…in that tiny drawer I showed you…remember that afternoon?"

* * *

_Final days of the engagement…summer of 1920…_

_"__Edith?" Anthony returned from a phone call and found her staring in wonder at her wedding ring. "They're on their way now and will be here in just a few short—what is it?"_

_She smiled, her brown eyes shining. "Why is this just laying about on your desk, my love?" _

_Anthony, sheepish, replied, "I can't help but want to see it is all…and imagine it on your hand."_

_He walked over to her, and she easily moved to sit on the top of the desk in front of him, holding the ring up to the light streaming through his study window._

_"__Do you like it?" He stared at her intently, his blue eyes giving away how desperately he wished her to be pleased with it. "If it isn't what you—" _

_Edith stared at the golden band inlaid with alternating exquisitely cut diamonds and Ceylon blue sapphires. "It's gorgeous…I can't believe you remembered the sapphires…" she said, breathless, and captivated by the brilliant gems catching the light, seeing it dance with each movement. "Do you know why I've come to adore them in particular?"_

_Anthony tilted his head, curious._

_Looking down at the ring and then back up into his eyes, shyly, she said, "I've always liked them, but I've come to love them because—and I suppose it's a bit silly—but in the light, just like right now, your eyes are this blue...and I can't imagine anything…lovelier…" She blushed._

_Anthony gazed at her for a moment, and then leant in speaking softly in her ear, "If you like the ring—and I hope I did well in choosing it, my darling—then you should have the accompanying piece for it, too," he grinned, but didn't move to retrieve it._

_Edith waited, expectantly. "Well?"_

_Anthony laughed. "My darling, you will have to wait to see it."_

_"__Wait?" She huffed, mocking the expression of a petulant child pouting and Anthony couldn't help but laugh again._

_"__My sweet one, I will be only too happy to give you the match for it," he said, then leaned tantalizingly close and whispered, "on our wedding night. I promise—it'll be on your nightstand in our bedroom waiting for you...and I pray you will like it just as much or more than this ring."_

_Anthony's warmth and deep voice so close caused Edith to hold her breath, her skin flushed and glowing. When she looked up at him, he was certain he'd never seen her look so beautiful. Forgetting propriety for a few moments and knowing their time together without a chaperone was short—the Crawleys would arrive for tea at any moment— Anthony briefly met her lips with his—first a gentle touch, chaste, then Edith returned the kiss eagerly, hungry for so much more that her hands were on his chest, and then her fingers loosening his tie, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. As she did so, her lips moved to the nape of his neck and Anthony, inhaling a ragged breath, pulled away from her, cautiously taking the wedding ring from her fingers and placing it to the side in the tiny drawer of the desk…_

_"__Can't take a chance losing that," he smiled his blue eyes assessing her once more. "You are so lovely to me…" Then, he was kissing her again—her lips, her cheek—and her hands were threading his hair. His left hand brushed the other side of her neck, slipping up into her hair gently supporting her as his lips found her shoulder, pressed against the material of her blouse and then the bare skin of her collar bone..._

_Edith couldn't keep her eyes open. "Oh…hmmm…Anthony…mmmm…tell me again…" _

_Between warm kisses tracing a line along her neck to just behind her ear, Anthony breathed, "Edith…you're…everything…to…me…"_

_She trembled, then her hands guided him back to her lips, the kiss deep—neither holding back, both caught in the ecstasy of the moment, unable to hold each other close enough._

_Anthony stopped, catching his breath, and stared at her, letting the image of his Edith—eyes lit with desire, head tilted enticing him, hair slightly astray, and the most enchanting smile on her lips—be captured in his memory forever…_

_When her eyes fluttered open again, her smile widened. "Why did you stop?"_

_"__I had to," he confessed. "If I hadn't…we have just seven days, sweet one—you're just so…" He smiled, unable to find a word to do her justice._

_Edith pressed a soft kiss to his lips, surrendering to his point. "And you, Anthony, are just so…" She teased, smiling up at him. "My God, I love you, especially like this…" She touched his lips with her fingertips._

_"__Completely and utterly in love with you, you mean?" _

_"__Yes…the absolute romantic gentleman of my dreams...only better because you're real—and I can touch you, which I do love to do…to see what it does to you and…" She caressed his now blushing cheeks, and she looked into his eyes. "Anthony Strallan, I cannot wait to become your wife…"_

* * *

"I remember," she whispered. Perfect together, their time at Locksley sustaining them, making them complete...

Anthony's breathing, halting, raspy—the effort overwhelming him—brought her back to the harsh reality of the present. "Edith…"

"It's all right, please, don't speak if you need to rest," she pleaded.

He shook his head. "Edith, I'm sorry—I'm sorry for walking away…the garden party…I should've—"

"No, Anthony, no, please don't blame yourself. It was my—"

"I should've listened to you—at the party…at the altar…so sorry…"

Edith started to shake; she lay again next to him, clutching him tightly. "Please don't—I should've tried harder to stop you—I shouldn't have let them—"

Anthony held her, though his arm was weak. "Shhh…you should know, my darling, how sorry I am—how different I wish our lives had been…together," he whispered. "I wanted you…to be happy…I thought it best…still, Edith, I want you to go on and…be happy—please?"

"I can't—Anthony, you have to heal from this. We have to make things right! Please—"

Anthony tried to take a deep breath, savoring the scent of her, the embrace. "It's too late, my love—"

"No, it can't be—Anthony, rest, and once you have your strength back—"

He coaxed her to look up at him and he leaned towards her, kissing her gently, for he couldn't manage anything more. "Edith, I love you—in case you have ever doubted me…I have always loved you—and I _will always_…love you…"

"Anthony, I can't be here without you. It took this to bring us together again, but we are here now and I love you so much—Anthony, wait—"

"Always, sweet one…I will…for you…I'll be waiting…" Anthony drifted off to sleep again, his breaths uneven, each one taking more strength to manage than the last.

By the time Stewart arrived less than an hour later, concerned at the silence and the passing of time, he found Edith clinging to Anthony in the bed…her head on his still chest and her eyes wide open, stunned…

"Lady Edith?"

Edith didn't move, couldn't blink.

Stewart moved closer and saw she was gripping his pajama shirt and his body so tightly that her hands were white. He leaned closer and saw how her eyes were red, swollen, and her entire body seemed to be shivering. "Lady Edith?" he whispered.

"He's gone," she murmured.

Stewart took a breath, trying to control his own emotion.

"He's gone," she repeated.

Stewart reached out to touch her, to help her up—to encourage her to break the hold she had on Anthony's body. "Please, Lady Edith."

Edith held on though, fierce now in her determination not to leave Anthony. "He loved me, Stewart, and—and I loved him—all these years we've loved each other—apart all this time—and now he's gone… He's gone and we have nothing… We should've been married! I was his wife! I would've been—I was and I wanted him as my husband…I loved him!" Her screams startled Stewart with their sudden sharpness, the rage and pain evident.

Mrs. Brandon appeared at the door. "Lady Edith—please. Stewart, I'll call Dr. Clarkson."

Stewart nodded in her direction. He turned back to Edith and this time did reach her and pulled her away from Anthony, her muscles tense and her grip strong, but she surrendered, recoiling and almost collapsing as Stewart gathered her to him. She broke then, sobbing, inconsolable. "I loved him… Anthony, please! Anthony!"

Stewart held her there as he knew Anthony would have done. Then, he walked her downstairs, continuing to hold her close.

Within an hour or so, Dr. Clarkson arrived with attendants and Anthony's body was removed.

"I'm so sorry, Lady Edith," Dr. Clarkson offered before leaving, knowing the futility, as he watched the younger woman grieve.

Hours later, Edith sat on the sofa in the library—their library—numb in front of the fire. "Would you like tea, milady?" Stewart asked.

Edith only shook her head.

"You haven't eaten anything, Lady Edith—wouldn't you like Mrs. Brandon—"

"No, thank you." Edith stared at the books.

Stewart left, concern and grief etched on his face.

Without thinking then, Edith felt the need to go to Anthony's desk—an urgency to find what he spoke of hidden in the tiniest drawer.

Remembering her way around, she discovered it and gently pulled it open to reveal a small box and a folded set of papers.

Edith, uncertain which to open first, decided on the letter. She braced herself. Anthony's handwriting, practiced and sharp despite being from his left hand, covered the paper. Edith's eyes tried to take it all in, the words blurring occasionally from emotion…

_My dearest darling Edith,_

_There are no words strong enough, or soft enough, to beg forgiveness or seek apology for my actions. I hope one day, perhaps much later, you can forgive me. Please believe me that I have always only wanted your happiness. I pray you will find it, my darling. I have perhaps said it, but not clearly, and I feel the need to remind you of it now: Edith, I fell in love with you in 1914…despite all that went awry, I couldn't help but dream of you often while I was away in the war—and I shall tell you now that I will always love you, which is why I felt I had to let you go. I know you need and deserve more; I am so sorry that I could not be more for you, a better man—deserving of you. There's so much more to say, but nothing can be made right with futile words… I love you... _

_Yours always,_

_Anthony_

Edith's tears wilted the paper in her hands. She moved to open the box, tenderly removing the top and her breath caught in her throat.

"Oh…" She took the wedding band from the box, but heard the movement of another object. She tugged at the plush layer inside the box and it gave, lifting easily out to reveal the bracelet.

Edith gasped… The gold mobius bracelet was custom matched to the ring—the diamonds and Ceylon sapphires patterned beautifully along the strip of precious metal with no beginning and no end, infinite and beautiful. Then, holding it up, she saw the engraving: _For my dearest darling, Lady Edith Strallan…In gratitude for this life you have given us. _ Edith wept. Gripping the bracelet, she whispered desperately, "If only you'd taken it, my love…it was _our life_ and we _did deserve it…_oh, how I wish you would have taken it—all of it was so useless. I never wanted—and never will want—anyone else… No one else compares. We were perfect…"

Stewart knocked. "Lady Edith?"

She tried to collect herself, but looked away from him and out the window. "Yes?"

"Sir Anthony's solicitor will be here shortly. He was aware he might be needed quite soon. He needs to see you, milady."

"Of course, Stewart. I'll be here or just outside—I may—I may need some fresh air," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Of course, milady. Are you all right?"

Edith turned to him, "Numb…empty inside is all—all this time was wasted."

Stewart feared for her safety, worried she might hurt herself. "I'm very sorry, milady."

"Thank you for all of your kindnesses, Stewart. I'm sorry for your loss, too; I know he was quite close to you and his staff."

Stewart nodded. "Yes, milady." He glanced around the room. "I'll let you know as soon as Mr. Clary arrives—"

"Thank you."

Stewart left her alone again.

Edith looked at the bracelet in her hand and the band on the desk. Anthony wanted to marry her…he'd put such thought into the jewelry…the gold band and bracelet were perfect—she'd only mentioned the sapphires in passing, but he knew. He always knew. Edith put the band on her left ring finger and slipped the bracelet on her right wrist and went upstairs to his room—their master bedroom. She stared at her hand and wrist now adorned with the jewelry and, when she looked at herself in full in the mirror, she swore for a moment she saw Anthony, blue eyes and crooked smile, standing tall behind her in white tie, could feel him lean towards her, his scent—she turned instantly…to nothing.

Edith took a deep breath. Needing to escape, she grabbed her coat, and went downstairs and out to the orchard for a brisk walk in the chilly autumn air. The trees were beautiful and the grounds, as ever, well-kept. This had been their favorite walk in the passing of the afternoons or the rare mornings they could find a reason to be together, shaded by the gorgeous canopies of the trees, the quiet rustling from the breeze… Memories beckoned, filling her as she walked. Anthony holding her hand, listening to her, pulling her close to him, the two of them happiest here. Nothing in the past years had come close to those moments with him here at Locksley. She began the walk back and heard what she thought must be the solicitor's car arriving.

"Lady Edith Crawley?" The solicitor, a tall, plain man in his late 40's, removed his hat, bowing slightly.

"Yes." Edith nodded.

"James Clary. Please—let's talk inside." Stewart met them at the door, holding it open, and leading them to the library—warm with the fire blazing and he brought the two a serving of tea.

Once seated, Edith steeled herself, uncertain why she felt anxious.

"Lady Edith, Sir Anthony changed his will in the past two years. He was quite serious about it, actually."

Edith listened, her eyes never moving from this man. "I understand."

He smiled. "I'm not sure you do, but you will shortly. Please let me explain. His sister, Mrs. Chetwood passed a little more than two years ago and, sadly, his nephew—Mrs. Chetwood's only child—was killed during the war. As you can imagine, with no children of his own, Sir Anthony has no direct heir; indeed, no other relation he wished to be notified, only extended family he barely knew or knew not at all and certainly no one to whom he would entrust Locksley. He was painfully aware of the situation with no heir—he'd always wanted a family—and he wanted to be quite clear in his last will and testament. When he came to me for this appointment, I tried to talk him out of it given the circumstances...um, your relationship; I apologize for my directness. Well, he refused, quite adamantly, and insisted on this solution."

"I don't understand—what do you mean? Why was there a problem?"

Mr. Clary cleared his throat. "He's left his entire estate and financial holdings…to you."

Edith's eyes lost focus and her thoughts scattered. "Wh—"

"I understand it's probably not what you expected me to share with you…" He waited, observing her taking in the news.

"I don't know what to say—I'm shocked. Surely he considered what others might say—"

He nodded, affirming her thoughts. "Yes, and he came to the conclusion that it wouldn't matter; you and Locksley meant everything to him. He used those exact words, Lady Edith. He wanted it no other way and, frankly, I believe I was witnessing a broken man who had—for all intents and purposes—given up on caring what others thought of him…"

"I see…I know. I think I know what you mean," she whispered.

"I needed to share this with you in person—there will be some legal paperwork, but that will come…a bit later. Have you any questions or concerns you wish me to address now?"

Edith stared into the fire. "Everything?"

"Yes, Lady Edith. He was, as you know, a meticulous and astute man—even in his…condition. Rest assured, he's taken care of everything and this will in no way call upon you to take on anything you're uncomfortable with in terms of the running of things. The tenant farmers and workers were made aware of this decision and he's literally taken care of the most minute detail, as you can imagine, knowing his nature." Clary paused, fidgeting with his hat a bit, letting her take in the technical facts before saying, "He made a point of telling me how much he wanted to do things this way—in fact, I believe he used the phrase, 'her home' when he described you here at Locksley—he said you quite loved it here?"

Clary could see the emotion stirring and recognized his cue. Edith's eyes glistened. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Clary."

"I'll be in touch again soon, Lady Edith." He stood and nodded once more before leaving the library.

Edith Crawley sat in the chair, contemplating, her eyes settling on the wedding band on her left hand and then the bracelet on her right. Anthony was giving her the life and freedom he felt she deserved, but at his own sacrifices—no marriage with her father's blessing, no children, no life together—was this redemption? Surely, he knew she couldn't hold anything against him? No, this was love…unselfish, passionate, devoted love they had together that never was fully realized and Edith knew now what her life would be. No longer a journalist, she would send a post to Michael—ending the relationship and begin anew with writing, a different direction—whatever direction she desired; no longer dependent on her family's assistance or goodwill or pity. For all the irony involved—and Edith had to smile to herself thinking of her family's rejection of the two of them and the 'dreadful' life they felt Anthony offered her as his wife-turned-nursemaid—yes, Edith Crawley would be "tied" to Anthony after all—willingly, as she had wanted years before…free to love him—his life and their memories together, free to live and write and dream as he had always wanted for her anyway…taking his name as hers—just as he'd had it so beautifully engraved on the bracelet, if only in private amongst his staff who knew them together… Yes, Edith Crawley was home and Anthony Strallan, her everything in this life, and always, had made it so.


End file.
